( barbara had asked him the same thing earlier. told him he deserves to be happy, to have a life outside of the red hood. jason's tired of building himself up, of finding things, just to lose it all again. he used to call kyle out for being--well, himself, but the older jason gets, the more he lets himself become attached and watches it all fall apart again, the more he realizes kyle being a stubborn asshole who refuses to close himself off just because the world keeps crumbling around him just shows how much stronger he is. jason may be able to kick his ass in a fist fight, but kyle knows what strings to pull to leave jason here: standing in the middle of a crowded festival, kyle's hands on his face, being very visibly together in a way that would usually fuck jason over not because he's ashamed but because it's--a visible weakness, showing one of the only damned people in the world he'll let get this close to him without intending to pull their innards out.

a hand moves, fingers wrapping around kyle's wrist to hold onto him. pulls it over a little, so he can use their wrists to block his mouth from being visible. another habit ingrained into him through years of being surrounded by stalkers and lipreaders. )

I want to make promises and keep 'em. I want to be happy, it's just--it's been almost an entire decade since I died. I've had fake IDs, there was a stunt I'd pulled in Gotham that didn't go anywhere, 've been to a few family brunches--but. Hell. There wasn't much point to hiding my face from Gotham's shittiest 'cause outside of Red Hood, I didn't exist. 's not an excuse. But I'm. . . working on figuring out how to be someone outside of a goddamn mask, 'cause I want it. Even if it makes everything harder.